


Insults & Injuries

by TheIndifferentDroid



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Brief Mentions of Blood, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-TFA, Soft Kylux, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid/pseuds/TheIndifferentDroid
Summary: SoftKyluxKinks prompt: Kylo is the only one who Hux trusts to take care of him when he's hurt because Kylo is the only one who's had the chance to kill him but hasn't.





	Insults & Injuries

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first kylux fic. I’ve been a passive bystander for the last 6 months, so I thought I’d jump right in. Here’s some softness. Well, as soft as these boys can get. Any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> If you feel like anything else needs to be tagged, please let me know.

Kylo Ren is the only one in the First Order who could successfully assassinate the general. Hux knows this.  

 

Kylo has had ample opportunities to do so. Hux knows this, too. 

 

Somehow, this allows Hux to–he struggles to use the word–trust Kylo. He doesn’t want to, not entirely, but Hux attempts to think of anyone else who wouldn’t use his current misfortune to their advantage, and, well, he can’t. 

 

It isn’t even a blaster wound, only a graze. Hux had hidden it well enough in front of the troopers and officers, managed to whip his greatcoat over his shoulders when they boarded the transport, and grit through the weight against his back. But now he was back on board  _The Finalizer_ , and the silence and solitude of his quarters only magnified the pain. The medpacks he kept stocked in his quarters had what he needed, and Hux was well versed in dressing wounds, but he resigned to the fact that there was only so much one could do with a non-dominant hand and a wound inconveniently placed on his back.

 

Hux has never really been injured before, at least not while he was someone of any significance. The academy and his earlier years as an officer found him in the medbay one too many times. He was weak, susceptible to injuries and fell ill regularly. He learned quickly though that this was not the image of someone as important as he intended to be. Months before he became general, Hux made a choice. Since then, he’d spent the last years avoiding the medbay, allowing no one to see him in a weakened state. It was also a foolproof tactic to avoid anyone who might want to see Hux poisoned or otherwise incapacitated. No one would think twice if someone–even the general–came up dead while in the medbay, so he did his best to avoid it at all costs. 

 

Hux stares at himself awkwardly in the mirror in his refresher, head straining painfully over his shoulder. From what he can tell, it’s a nasty gash that definitely needs attention that he alone cannot give it. He chastises himself under his breath for even having been in a situation to have this happen, but that’s an issue for another day, he decides. Defeated, Hux redresses sloppily into the burnt and bloodied clothes, throws on his coat and swipes the opened medpack from his table before leaving his quarters decidedly.

 

A few minutes later, when the door Hux has brought himself to slides open, he begins to regret the decision. 

 

Kylo is, Hux thinks, thankfully dressed, though his bare arms are causing enough of a distraction. His suspenders are hanging limp around his thighs. The sides of his shirt are untucked minutely as if he had just begun to remove it.

 

Neither greets the other verbally. 

 

"I need your help." Hux tries his best not to stumble over the words or pause or give any indication that it pains him, more than the wound on his back, to say such a thing. 

 

Kylo smirks. Of course he does. "It must be a warm day on Hoth. Come in, General."

 

"If you’re going to be belligerent, I’ll just leave," Hux snaps. 

 

At this moment, Hux hopes that Kylo cannot read his mind, just as he hoped he’s never read it before, though the chances of that are slim. But now, more than ever, Hux tries to fortify his mind. How, he’s not sure. He just can’t let Kylo see that, no matter how difficult he chooses to be, Hux won’t leave. He can’t. There’s nowhere else to go.

 

Kylo moves out of the doorway and waves his arm genially to invite Hux in. He could be imagining things, but Hux thinks Kylo has tamed the smirk on his face, just a little. Hux struts past Kylo and straight into the living quarters. He’s shrugged off his greatcoat by the time Kylo has shut the door and followed him. 

 

"Here," Hux says, throwing the medpack at Kylo. He doesn’t catch it, rather suspends it in midair just in front of his chest. "I’m in need of medical attention," Hux explains ignoring Kylo’s blatant display of power. 

 

Kylo grabs the supplies now, but doesn’t remove his eyes from Hux, who is now removing his uniform shirt. "And you came to me?"

 

"Don’t feel special, Ren. I was on my way back from the medbay with the pack when I realized I wouldn’t be able to tend to this myself." Hux’s shirt is removed now, but he’s still in an undershirt, an unbearable chill running up his arms. "I didn’t want to bother them again. So I’m bothering you instead."

 

It’s a lame excuse. Hux knows it the second it leaves his lips. However history has shown that Kylo tends to stop listening to Hux after the first few words, so he might be in the clear. The look on Kylo’s face says as much, but he doesn’t respond, which is both refreshing and unnerving.

 

Hux turns to face away from Kylo, as if he’ll show less skin this way. He wishes he could keep his shirt on, but the wound is right beneath his shoulder blade, and it’s just not possible. As he peels his shirt up over his head, he feels the wound pull a little, having apparently drained and dried against his shirt in just the short walk over here. 

 

"What about Phasma?" Kylo asks, and Hux nearly jumps. The voice is close, like he’s standing right behind Hux now. 

 

"What about her?" Hux retorts, suddenly and entirely too defensive. The ends of his words are sharp and over-articulated. 

 

"I’m sure she knows how–"

 

"She’s not here," Hux interrupts. 

 

Kylo hums inquisitively behind him. It bothers Hux that he can’t see the facial expression that goes along with it. 

 

Hux stands stock still as Kylo begins to rummage through the pack of supplies. "You know what you’re doing, don’t you?" Hux asks. 

 

Kylo chuckles darkly. Hux hates it. "I’m not answering that."

 

This is exactly what Hux was afraid of, being treated like a child, like someone who can’t take care of himself. 

 

Hux sighs heavily, exasperated already, but his breath hitches sharply on the way out. The sudden pressure against his wound is painful and searing and he wants to jump out of his skin and turn around and slap Kylo. But he can’t. He’s anchored to the spot, with Kylo’s heavy hand on his other bare shoulder, holding him in place. 

 

"Sorry," Kylo mumbles, long and drawn out, like he’s distracted. 

 

"Don’t apologize. Just...." Hux trails off. He isn’t sure what to tell Kylo to do because he’s doing exactly what he’s asked of him. And not only that, he’s apologized, which Hux now realizes he should not have discouraged him from doing. 

 

"You were going to fix this yourself?" Kylo asks. 

 

"Well, yes," Hux answers. There’s still a bit of pressure on the wound, and Kylo’s hand has left his shoulder, but he’s feeling better. "Is there a problem?"

 

"No," Kylo answers quickly. There’s another press against the wound now, but it’s cooler, a little like relief. "I’m just surprised."

 

"Is that so?" When Hux asks this, he stands up a little straighter, broadens his chest unknowingly. 

 

"You’re tougher than I thought."

 

Hux opens his mouth to fire off a smart remark but falls short. However backhanded the compliment, he’s apparently on Kylo’s good side for the moment and decides its best to stay there while he’s exposed. 

 

There are light touches against Hux’s back now, and he can picture the patch being applied. The edges are lightly sealed, warm fingers smoothing out the ends along the perimeter of the wound. Kylo’s touch is so much lighter than Hux has ever felt it. Strange, he thinks, that Kylo’s actions are less damaging when he actually uses his hands and not some invisible magic.

 

The feeing of Kylo’s fingers disappears. A sharp clap echoes through the room and Hux jumps from the pain on his back, where Kylo has just slapped his hand against the patch and Hux’s wound underneath. Hux’s mind lags, from exhaustion and pain, and he clears his throat once he realizes the noise ringing his in ears on a loop is a yelp so high pitched it should not have come from him. 

 

"All done."

 

"Bastard," Hux mumbles under his breath. He attempts to recover, reaching up to straighten his uniform as he would normally to distract himself, but, remembering he’s undressed from the waist up, becomes flustered again when there is no shirt to smooth. 

 

"What’s that?" Kylo’s voice is still uncomfortably close. 

 

"Nothing." 

 

Another dull slap rings through the air accompanied by a jolt to Hux’s body. Hux barely tames another jumpy movement before realizing Kylo didn’t mean to hurt him this time. His hand isn’t on the wound, it’s not on the bacta patch; it’s on his shoulder, his bare skin where Kylo had held him earlier. Kylo gives his shoulder a light, friendly squeeze. "I think you’ll survive. Now don’t take it off for at least a cycle or it’ll scar."

 

Turning and removing himself from Kylo’s grip, Hux trails his eyes down Kylo’s exposed arms. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?"

 

Their eyes finally meet, and Kylo’s glare is intense. "Just trying to help," says Kylo. He brushes past Hux and disappears into the next room, and Hux takes it as his cue to leave. 

 

When he gets back to his own quarters, Hux waits only six hours before removing the patch, awkwardly with the very tips of his fingers and brushes of knuckles. The wound is approximated and dry, but it’s still a little raw and rough around the edges. 

 

They don’t speak of the encounter. It never comes up, and Hux tries so hard to repress the moment of absolute helplessness so adamantly that he actually does forget, every now and again, that it actually happened. He only remembers occasionally, when he sees Kylo. Which is fine. It’s not as if he works with the man. 

 

However, there were three days of repressed bliss with Kylo away on a mission. Operations run smoothly without the commander, which is not surprising. Hux is in a fairly jovial mood, at least to his closer officers. Phasma even convinces him to join her in the training room for a quick spar. She doesn’t go easy on him, and Hux doesn’t hold back either. Both are more than capable. Hux can practically feel the endorphins pumping through his veins, and a weak smile cracks through his lips with his labored breaths. 

 

Then the door to the training room slides open. Hux only looks to see who it is because he knows this is the only time the room is free and the troopers should be elsewhere and damn him for being so particular about the rules and timelines and schedules. Because it’s Kylo. 

 

Hux stares for a second too long–Kylo isn’t wearing a shirt and the light gets lost in the deep creases of his muscles and his hair is pulled back into some ridiculous bun–and Phasma takes the opening. 

 

Hux is on the ground before he realizes he’s been punched. 

 

"Oh, kriff!" Phasma exclaims, as if she didn’t know what she had done. Her voice sounds so far away, but Hux is pretty sure she hasn’t moved and he’s only just on the ground. "You alright?"

 

"I’m fine," Hux seethes. He reaches up to gingerly touch his eye, and that’s when the pain starts. He’s barely touched it and it feels aflame, and his hand comes away with blood. He nearly laughs. "Well, I believe we’re done here, don’t you?" 

 

Phasma helps him up with little difficulty, though Hux feels the slightest bit lightheaded. "Let’s get you to the medbay."

 

"No," Hux says quickly, then, with a little more indifference to his voice, repeats, "No. Thank you. I can manage. Pick up my things, will you?"

 

Phasma nods, and Hux turns to leave before she can offer any additional unwanted assistance. The force of every step he takes towards the door seems to travel up his body and into his face. There’s an unobstructed path to the exit, so he closes his eyes for a few steps, hoping to ease the severity of the pain, but it just makes his eye feel worse somehow. As he reaches the door, he pauses for a moment, steeling himself to deal with what promises to be a torturous walk back to his quarters. 

 

There’s a noise, then, just to his left, the side that he’s been punched on. He has to turn his whole head to look; his eye won’t move that way without protesting painfully. Kylo’s there, just ten or so steps away. The wooden staff he just dropped rolls into his boot and comes to a stop. Hux shoots a glare at Kylo, though, to be honest, he’s not sure how menacing he can look with the face he’s currently sporting. He imagines he looks angry, though, and that will do for now. 

 

While Hux doesn’t necessarily want to ask for Kylo’s help–again–it’s the first thing on his mind. He doesn’t have much of an excuse now; his injury is easily accessible and he’s perfectly capable. However, it is all Kylo’s fault, so perhaps...

 

Hux slams the button to exit the training room before that errant thought can fully materialize, but he’s only gone a few paces down the hall before it creeps back. The door has opened and shut behind him, and he knows the footsteps now following him are much too heavy to belong to Phasma. With that information in mind, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down or glance over his shoulder. He turns a corner, then another, and the footsteps maintain their pace, always just far enough away that he begins to think he might be imagining them.

 

After what feels like the longest walk he’s ever taken from the training room, Hux finally reaches the lift. Perhaps he does have a brain injury, because when Hux turns around while he waits for the lift, there’s no one behind him. 

 

The ride is quick, thankfully. In a rare stroke of luck, the lift stops for no one until Hux reaches his floor. He very nearly presses the wrong button–by accident, he tells himself–but he’d be lying if he didn’t think about detouring to the medbay, if just for a moment. Perhaps it’s sheer stubbornness, but something keeps him on the path to his quarters.

 

Once he gets there, he goes straight for the decanter on his table. There’s stimshots and pain medicine in his first aid stash, but there’s an uneasy feeling in his chest coupled with the pain that needs to be tamed. He takes a heavy seat at the table and pours out a drink. That first sip of whiskey always burns going down, but it’s welcomed today. There’s relief from the throbbing in his head for a brief moment.

 

A very brief moment.

 

The second he hears the knock at his door, a new pain emerges now. It starts in the back of his head and pierces slowly around his face. His jaw clenches almost automatically. 

 

He takes his time getting up. He downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a few long, measured breaths.

 

Hux wishes he were more disappointed to see Kylo at his door. 

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"You’re going to need help with that." Kylo juts his chin up as if to point at Hux’s eye. His arms are crossed against his chest casually, and he’s leaning against the doorframe. He procured a shirt somewhere in the last five minutes.

 

"I’m perfectly capable–"

 

"I know you are. But it’s...." Kylo trails off. One of his hands just barely moves towards Hux, towards his face. Hux reacts, just minutely, and Kylo pulls his hand back. "It’s swollen now. There’s no way you can see out of it."

 

From what Hux can tell–Kylo is right, his vision is waning–Kylo almost looks upset. Concerned even. 

 

"It’s nothing," Hux says, lifting his hand to touch his eye mindlessly. He’s not convincing in the slightest. His intake of breath at the pain is loud and obvious in the otherwise quiet hallway, and Kylo is hard pressed to ignore it with how close he’s standing. 

 

Hux pulls away quickly and links his wrists behind his back in attempt to regain power in this interaction, though he continues to feel incredibly overwhelmed for no reason at all. 

 

Kylo moves again, a little more slowly this time. Hux can see the movement but imagines if he ignores it, if he stares down Kylo while he’s moving, that he won’t dare to continue. But Kylo presses on, his hand slowly moving up towards Hux’s face, outstretched and open as if to coddle or comfort or...

 

Hux’s hand swings out from behind his back in a lightning-fast, fluid motion. There’s a satisfying slap when his hand makes contact with Kylo’s wrist, stopping his hand inches away from Hux’s face. 

 

Hux feels inadequate. While his hands are large–not overly so, just in proportion with his frame–his fingers are thin. They wrap mostly around Kylo’s entire wrist, but his grip is weak. Kylo is stronger than Hux, they both know it, but Hux has caught him off guard is able to keep him in place with relative ease. 

 

The men stare at each other for a moment too long and seem to realize this simultaneously. Kylo opens his mouth to speak, but Hux is quicker. "Not here," he sneers, releasing Kylo’s wrist and pushing it away with disgust. 

 

Hux retreats back to his quarters, leaving Kylo at the door, and heads straight for the whiskey again. He pours another few fingers off he amber liquid, casually swirls it in his glass, and takes a few deep breaths. His head still hurts. The liquor might have made it better by now if not for Kylo. A few moments later, after he doesn’t hear footsteps or the door closing, Hux turns around. Kylo is still standing there in the threshold just as he left him, one arm still crossed across his chest and the other stiffly at his side. 

 

"Stop ogling. Either come in or leave."

 

Kylo nearly leaps over the threshold in one large step, as if Hux could rescind his invitation at any moment–which he can. Hux turns again, his back to Kylo, in an effort to temper his interest. He takes a deep drink from his glass. "There are supplies in the refresher," he says casually, showing no signs of moving from his current location. 

 

Kylo bustles past Hux and into the adjoining room towards the ‘fresher. Kylo’s willingness–or whatever it is–is distracting. Perhaps Phasma put him up to this. Perhaps she had realized it was Kylo’s fault to begin with. Hux shudders at that idea; it’s really none of her business. The more he thinks about it, though, the more glaring his error becomes. He’s really got no excuse. Phasma will harass him about it eventually, once he’s healed and sure to have forgotten about the whole incident. 

The medpack slams against the durasteel table and pulls Hux from his ridiculous imagination, tearing his eyes away from the rippling whiskey in his glass. 

 

"Sit," Kylo says. 

 

Hux sighs in discontent but complies anyway. However, the moment he relaxes back into the chair, Kylo snatches his glass from his hand. 

 

"Excuse me?"

 

Kylo reaches across the table and sets the glass on the far end, out of Hux’s reach. There’s no doubt that he could still reach it if he stood up, but there’s a type of finality to Kylo’s action that tells Hux he should leave well enough alone. "The bacta doesn’t work as well with alcohol in your system," Kylo explains, or lies, Hux isn’t sure. Hux just knows that the bacta works, not necessarily how. "You shouldn’t drink that trash, anyway. It’s bad for you."

 

"I beg your pardon," Hux says, beginning to stand up. "If you’re going to–"

 

"Hold still," Kylo interrupts and pushes Hux back into his seat with one hand while he digs something out of the medpack with the other. 

 

Hux bites his lip to keep from speaking. The things he wants to say to Kylo. He knows he can’t quite mess anything up at this point. Kylo is in his quarters and already setting up the supplies to get Hux on the mend. Hux could berate him until he’s blue in the face, and he has this strange feeling that Kylo would still be here. He’s in too much pain to test the theory, though, but the idea amuses him nonetheless.

 

Kylo asks Hux, not unkindly, to lift his head, and he does as much. Kylo’s left hand presses gently against the back of Hux’s head, ruffling his hair. He attempts to ignore his obsession over his hair and focus on Kylo, which is not difficult since he’s close. He’s extremely close. He’s still standing, bending his awkward, large body to get a better look at Hux’s face. Hux is so busy focusing on Kylo–connecting the mess of moles on his face has proven oddly satisfying–that Kylo touching his face startles him, though that’s exactly what he’s supposed to be doing. 

 

"You alright?" Kylo asks. There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, and Hux realizes why. Kylo hasn’t even touched his eye, so he shouldn’t be in pain, shouldn’t be scared, shouldn’t have jumped at all. Kylo has Hux’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, with just the slightest touch, in order to lift his face to a better angle. 

Hux doesn’t humor him with an answer. 

 

Kylo is surprisingly and thankfully efficient. He thoroughly cleans the wound of all the dried blood. Hux recognizes the sting that accompanied his blaster graze a few weeks back, but he’s prepared this time and doesn’t let on that he feels anything at all. Patching the wound, though, proves tricky. Hux can tell by the minute expressions that cross Kylo’s face. He doesn’t mean to look, not that closely, but he’s right there and very hard to ignore. 

 

Overall, the experience isn’t terrible. The gentle pressure of Kylo’s large hand against the back of Hux’s skull every now and then keeps him grounded. He takes a sort of comfort in it but grumbles a little every time Kylo adjusts his hold. Besides Hux’s occasional dissent, it’s fairly quiet. Kylo’s deep and even breathing provides a sort of natural soundtrack that is typically lacking from Hux’s quarters. 

 

It’s so quiet that when Kylo finally speaks while he’s still tending to Hux’s face, it seems to shake the whole room. 

 

"Why do you trust me?"

 

Hux is stunned silent. He opens and closes his lips a few times, but the words won’t come. His brow furrows deeply, and his eye begins to hurt again. The pain seemingly knocks some sense into him. "I do not–"

 

"I could snap your neck without blinking," Kylo interrupts. He’s got the slightest smile on his face so Hux knows–hopes–it’s just an empty threat. Kylo slowly glides his thumb away from Hux’s eye, trailing it along his cheek until Hux’s jaw is in his grip. His left hand is still at the back of Hux’s head, and his fingers there tighten a little. "I’d say there’s a fair amount of trust involved."

 

"This isn’t  _trust_." Hux spits the word back at Kylo like it’s poison on his tongue. "It’s convenience."

 

Kylo stares at him for a beat, biting his lip in seeming contemplation as he does so. "Right. Well...." Kylo releases Hux from his hands and stands to his full height. He busies himself with putting the unused supplies back in the pack. "The cut was small; it should heal overnight. The bruising is going to get worse before it gets better, but -"

 

Hux stands. "I think I’ve got it from here. Commander."

 

"Whatever you say, General." Kylo gives a sloppy, overly casual salute before he turns away and walks towards the door.

 

As Hux watches him walk away, he’s overcome with an urge to say one more thing. He can’t decide if he wants to thank him or if he’s just accustomed to getting in the last word. While Hux is truly appreciative of the assistance, thanking Kylo might mean admitting he needed help, or even admitting that Kylo did a good job. Perhaps Kylo felt some sort of responsibility towards Hux. Thanking him for something he felt pressured to do would be a slap in the face, would it not?

 

"Ren," Hux calls out. The word is out before he even decides to say it. 

 

Kylo is gone, though, and the door is closed and Hux’s voice rings through his empty quarters. 

 

Hux stands there for a moment, a little defeated and a little frustrated, and there’s some other feeling there that he’s just not used to at all. He figures another glass of whiskey should clear it all up quite nicely. 

 

He goes to the refresher first to take a look at Kylo’s handiwork on his face. It’s not bad, but he’s definitely looked better. His eye is still swollen. He cant be sure if it’s gotten any worse, though; he didn’t get a chance to see it before it was doctored up. He leans in towards the mirror to get a closer look. Besides the size of his eye, everything looks fairly normal. The area is a little reddened. There’s a small line on his browbone that must be where Phasma busted the skin. Kylo has done a good job of sealing it up with a small sliver of a bacta patch so as to not obstruct Hux’s entire face. There’s a fine layer of shininess over the whole area, from Hux’s cheekbone to his brow. Hux knows the bacta is only skin deep, but the generous application should help with some of the pain. The whole job, Hux thinks, is awful solicitous. 

 

Hux hums appraisingly to no one but himself and his reflection, then clears his throat, as if someone has heard him and he needs to cover up his contentment. He straightens his stance and surveys himself in the mirror one last time before he turns away. 

 

Hux’s half-finished glass of whiskey is right where Kylo left it. He downs the remnants quickly, remembers Kylo’s warning about the effectiveness of the bacta, then pours another. It won’t kill him. Even still, the alcohol is likely to counter any loss of sedation to his currently pain-free face. He briefly considers the risks before taking the first sip of this third glass. 

 

He mills around his quarters as he slowly nurses the drink, attempting, in some regard, to distract himself. He tidies up the remaining medical supplies and tries to pick up any mess Kylo made, but there is none. The chairs around his table are straightened to the point of perfection until his mind starts to wander again. Then he grabs his datapad and wrestles off his training boots before reclining, exasperated, onto his couch.   
  
Hux could do reports, but decides against it. He has no desire to clean up his own inconsistencies tomorrow when he’s sober. He could queue up a holodrama; he hasn’t enjoyed anything like that in a while. He feels his attention span waning just thinking about it. He decides to skim some old military texts he’s saved from his academy days. Although he’s nearly memorized them–the battle strategies, negotiation tactics, and the like–he takes comfort in something so sure. Typically he can take comfort in his own life. He’s usually so certain, infallible. But he has Kylo to blame for that. And not just recently. His entire life has been one large enigma since Kylo stumbled into it. It just seems to have worsened as of late. 

 

The whiskey in his glass slowly drains away as he flips through the texts on his datapad. The words he reads do little more than slosh around his brain, as if there’s no room to commit the information to memory for the thirtieth time. He pushes on for a while longer but grows agitated. His eyes are beginning to hurt from staring at the screen, especially his left. There’s also a dull ache beginning to creep back into his face that he no longer has patience for, and when he goes to take a sip of his drink, he finds it empty. 

 

"Hells."

 

When he stands, his head swims a little, but it’s not unpleasant. He makes his way back to the refresher to procure the pain medicine he should have taken an hour ago. While he’s in there, he chances a glance at his face. It’s jarring. The bruising Kylo mentioned is starting to bloom just above his cheekbone. The purple makes his skin look even paler than usual, and his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol. It’s not a great look. On the bright side, while the bruising is there, the swelling has gone down a significant amount, but he still appears a little asymmetrical.

 

Medicine in hand, Hux locates his decanter once again and frowns at the level of the liquid. With a little reluctance, he pours another glass. He throws the capsules into his mouth and downs them with a large swallow of whiskey. There’s no burn anymore, not after this many glasses, but there’s still an uncomfortable feeling when the pills stick to his throat a little on the way down. 

 

He won’t be able to sleep in this much pain. Not yet, at least. He’ll want to shower, too, before he gets in bed, but the sonic is anything but relaxing, so he retires back to the couch. His socked feet drag a little but slide easily enough against the cool durasteel floor. Hux is a bit tall to fit entirely on his couch, but he makes do, kicking his feet on one armrest and scooting down so his head is propped up on the other. 

With a defeated sigh, his body sinks into the stiff cushions. He downs the last of the whiskey at an awkward angle, taking care not to spill, though he nearly chokes himself when it rushes down his throat. He composes himself best he can then stretches out to lay the glass on the table next to the couch.   


The second it happens, Hux knows he’s made a terrible miscalculation. He was too lazy–drunk, he corrects; he’s drunk–to sit up properly to see what he was doing. The cool glass escapes his grip before it’s properly situated on his table. He moves too slow, or perhaps he knows it’s too late, to catch it before it clashes noisily against the unforgiving floor.

 

He peeks over the edge of the couch to assess the damage. Large pieces of glass are scattered just under the table where it landed. It appears the intricate cuttings and the thickness of the material allowed it to break into minimal large pieces instead of hundreds of miniscule ones. Still, he groans. He just hasn’t got the energy at the moment to deal with it. 

 

He scans his eyes to the foot of the couch and sees that his boots are there then leans his head back onto the armrest. He closes his eyes, only to think and only for a moment, he tells himself. There isn’t really any reason to bother with the mess at present time. He’ll just get it in the morning, or call in the cleaning droid from his datapad first thing. That’s what he’ll do. That would be easiest. Of course, he could do it now, make sure it’s all taken care of by the time he wakes up. 

 

"Nonsense," he mumbles to himself. "Tomorrow."

 

He crosses his arms over his chest, cozying into the couch, but sleep doesn’t overtake him. He’s on some odd edge of flimsy consciousness, and his mind drifts. 

 

Usually when he thinks of Kylo, it’s frustrating, seething thoughts. It’s white-hot, blinding anger. Never without cause. Just like now, he imagines, there must be a reason Kylo is occupying his thoughts. His presence isn’t off-putting now, though. It’s quite the opposite. Hux should be more concerned, he really should, but there’s little room for trepidation when he’s thinking about how Kylo held him earlier. The solid press of the armrest against his head is a crude substitute for a warm hand, but it takes him back to earlier nonetheless.

 

He falls a little deeper into his subconscious no matter how hard he tries to ward it off. Even though he doesn’t like Kylo, Hux thinks about his eyes and how they’re the same amber color as his whiskey. Even though he loathes Kylo, Hux’s mind fills with images of his muscles, his arms, and his calves that he saw the one time in the training room and committed to memory though he hadn’t realized he was staring. And even though Hux plays by the book and follows every rule and knows every regulation, he still–still, after all that–can’t help but imagine Kylo knocking on his door, inviting himself in. He can see it so clearly, Kylo coming to his door, and he can nearly hear it, the solid, powerful knock. 

 

Hux rouses, and not lightly. He sits bolt upright, listening. There’s a rush of blood from his head, and he closes his eyes. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, but just above it he hears exactly what he thought he heard. There’s another series of knocks on his door. 

 

"Just a moment," Hux calls. He takes a deep breath before standing up from the sofa. He feels off but runs his hands through his hair and tugs on his shirt in hopes it’ll at least appear all is well. He ignores the fact that he decidedly straightens his posture, pulling back his shoulders just before he opens the door.

 

Phasma’s reddened, sweaty face is what greets him, and Hux’s entire body deflates immediately. 

 

"Oh," he says, a little too quickly. His discretion disappeared with his sobriety, it appears.

 

"Oh?" she repeats. "Don’t be so disappointed. I was only coming to check on you. I could leave."

 

She adds the last part as if she hasn’t already pushed past him and into the room. 

 

"No, please," Hux mumbles into the empty hallway. "Do come in."

 

"Alright, what’s the damage?" Phasma asks as Hux catches up with her. He pauses in front of Phasma, and she appraises his face. "Not bad."

 

"Not bad  _now_ ," Hux corrects. "You should have–what?" Hux asks when Phasma makes a face.

 

She waves her hand dramatically in front of her face to clear the air. "You’ve been drinking. A lot."

 

Hux bristles. "No, I–"

 

"What’s going on?"

 

There are times when Hux is thankful for the bond he has with Phasma. Tonight, at this very moment, is not one of them.

 

Hux motions to his couch as he walks past Phasma. He may as well humor her. She likely knows already but is at least giving him a chance to divulge the information voluntarily before prying it out of him with guilt. "Have a seat." He can feel Phasma following him, but she doesn’t say anything. He speaks up before she can ask any specific questions. "If you must know–" 

 

Hux’s speech is cut off as the breath gets seemingly ripped from his lungs. No other sound leaves his mouth besides the rush of air, and how he hasn’t screamed yet just speaks to his training.

 

The pain shoots from his foot and up his leg, tingles at the bottom of his spine, before he collapses onto the couch.

 

"Stars, Hux. What–"

 

"Bloody. Kriffing. Hells." He takes an unsteady breath between each word, lifting his foot to rest on his opposite knee.

 

The moment he sees the piece of glass resting snugly in his foot, he knows what he needs to do. "Get Ren, please." The steadiness of his voice scares some sanctity into the situation. Phasma must recognize it too, because she’s out the door without another word.

 

Hux’s socks are black, so he can’t quite see the amount of blood the injury has drawn, but he can feel it, warming the skin beneath the now damp fabric. The translucent piece of glass–thick and, evidently, extremely sharp–is beginning to turn pink in cloudy swirls. The grip Hux has on his ankle is vice-like, just tight enough to distract from some of the searing pain in his foot. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and breaths long breaths in though his nose and out through his mouth. He ignores the way his shoulders shake.

 

A few minutes later, after the shaking has subsided, Hux steels himself, opens his eyes, and reaches for his foot.

 

"Don’t touch it!"

 

Hux’s hands fly up innocently and a little clumsily. Kylo laughs a little as he walks through the threshold, taking care to close the door behind him, something Phasma apparently failed to do when she left earlier.

 

"You’ll bleed out if you remove it. Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy?"

 

Hux chances an eye roll, but Kylo isn’t looking at his face. His gaze trails along the floor as he approaches, eyeing the spots of spilled blood. 

 

"You’re in a right state, aren’t you?" Kylo asks.

 

That throws Hux off entirely. He looks up into Kylo’s face, squinting rather dramatically. Kylo chuckles at his confusion. "You’ve said that to me a lot. I thought I’d take this rare opportunity to use it myself."

 

"Fuck off," Hux replies, but his voice is tired and his accent rounded and it lacks the fiery bite that typically accompanies that line.

 

Kylo must notice, because he plops down onto the opposite end of the couch anyway. "I understand my presence was requested?"

 

"I asked Phasma to fetch you," Hux blurts. 

 

Hux’s lips are entirely too loose for this conversation. He’s never been inebriated around Ren. Not that he ever would have been; they never grace each other with their presence unless absolutely necessary. Now he’s realizing that only drinking alone–or at the very least with Phasma–was to his benefit.

 

This… this is not going to go well.

 

Kylo motions for Hux’s foot and he complies without a second thought. He situates himself against the armrest and swings his leg up onto the couch. There’s a moment of hesitation where he doesn’t want to put his leg down on Kylo’s, but Kylo isn’t having any of that. He grabs Hux by the ankle and helps his leg the rest of the way down and onto Kylo’s thigh.

 

A deep chuckle rumbles from Kylo’s chest again.

 

"Stop that," Hux mumbles.

 

"Stop what?" Kylo asks, bending down to get a better look at Hux’s foot.

 

"That…" Hux huffs. Kylo must be testing his patience. "That thing you’re doing."

 

"Laughing, you mean?"

 

"Yes. It’s..." Hux pauses. "Rude. It’s quite rude."

 

Kylo sits up and regards Hux. He suddenly feels like he’s being picked apart, scrutinized in a way that he’s never been before. He tries to maintain eye contact with Kylo, but it’s difficult. His eyes won’t focus, and he feels immensely tired and still a little dazed from his half-nap. The meds are probably kicking in, too. He probably should not have had that fourth glass of–

 

"You’re drunk." Kylo’s voice jolts Hux. 

 

Hux can do nothing but stutter. 

 

"I told you," Kylo growls through gritted teeth. His grip on Hux’s ankle has increased significantly. "I told you not to drink any more. The bacta..." Kylo trails off into a groan, lifts Hux’s leg off of his, and stands up. 

 

"Wait!" Hux scrambles on the sofa. He wants so badly to stand up, but he knows he won’t get very far. 

 

"Calm down," Kylo barks over his shoulder. "I’m just going to get supplies. Don’t move."

 

Hux falls back into the sofa with a huff. Time moves strangely now. Hux feels a little out of place, even in his own quarters, almost like he’s not here, like he’s on some other plane of existence. Next thing he knows, Kylo is back in front of him with a pile of supplies in his arms. 

 

Kylo places the items down on the table and kneels down carefully, running his gaze over the entire area for any more remnants of glass. He sweeps up whatever he can find with a towel pushes it out of the way. He makes sure to cast a look at Hux in the process, but Hux can’t make heads or tails of it. He just appears a little miffed. 

 

When the area is cleared, Kylo takes a seat on the floor directly in front of Hux but a few feet away. He takes another towel and drapes it over his lap, grabs the supplies and spreads them out on the floor next to him. 

 

Hux chuckles, for some reason. He doesn’t know why, exactly. It just happens as he’s watching Kylo. He supposed his brain went on some tangent he wasn’t privy to. 

 

"What?" Kylo asks. His tone is flat. He seems a little bored. He motions for Hux. "Give me your foot."

 

"Nothing," Hux answers. He adjusts his seat on the couch and lightly lifts his leg at the knee. He winces, though he tries not to. He’s lost all ability to control any of his emotions at the moment, and he’s finding it increasingly more difficult to care. 

 

Kylo works in silence, just as he had earlier in the evening. He doesn’t do much at first, just examines the area from multiple different angles, taking care to be as gentle as possible with Hux’s leg. Kylo’s hands are warm. Hux can feel them through his sock, and tries to focus all of his attention on that instead of the sharpness in his foot. 

 

Hux has never really taken much notice to Kylo’s hands before. He’s hardly ever seen them uncovered by the thick, leather gloves, much less felt them. Hux is not a small man, but Kylo’s hands seem to engulf Hux’s body no matter where he puts them, and he enjoys that thought more than he should. 

 

"Regarding our earlier conversation," Hux starts, to distract himself from his current train of thought. He pauses, waits for Kylo to at least acknowledge he’s listening. Kylo hums. Hux imagines that as much of a response as he’ll get, as he’s still entirely preoccupied by the pile of supplies he’s rifling through.

 

"I don’t–" Hux stops. His brain is foggy and he’s frustrated. He’s never been this hard pressed to find words, but they seem to spill out of him nonetheless. "If you must know. It’s not so much a trust of you, but a general distrust of everyone else."

 

It’s silent for a beat. Kylo is still digging for something, and Hux’s patience is waning. Kylo finally looks up, but only to Hux’s foot, not to Hux himself, and a moment later the room starts to spin. 

 

Hux’s vision is spotty, but he hears a clink of glass on metal and he knows what’s happened. He’s in pain but there’s a distinct absence of tension in his foot. He feels slightly better. 

 

"You could have warned me."

 

Kylo finally speaks. "I could have."

 

Hux rolls his eyes, finally feeling grounded, and looks back down at Kylo. His enormous hands are wrapped fully around his foot, holding pressure against the wound. He’s looking directly at Hux now, and he shakes his head a little to clear stray pieces of hair from his face. His hair is still pulled back, showing more of his face than Hux can typically see.

 

Hux is beginning to wonder if he might not hate Kylo after all. 

 

"Do you mean that?"

 

Hux is shaken, and he has difficulty containing the feeling. He’s stuttering again. He bites his lip so he can stop talking or making noises or whatever it is he’s doing. The remnants of whiskey he tastes on his lips make his stomach flip. 

 

"Do you mean that you don’t trust anyone else?"

 

Oh. That. 

 

"Yes, I–" Hux is momentarily distracted by the sight of Kylo slipping his hands up Hux’s pants leg. His large fingers gather Hux’s sock, rolling it off of his foot. He’s taken his shirt off in front of Kylo before, but this feels strangely more intimate. Hux clears his throat. "Yes, I do."

 

Kylo casts Hux a sidelong glance as he grabs some gauze from his pile of supplies, maintaining pressure with his other hand. It’s an oddly comforting look coming from Kylo. He doesn’t appear unsettled by the admission. He actually looks a bit smug, if Hux’s brain can even be trusted to make that type of conclusion at this point.

 

Some odd weight has been lifted off of Hux. Maybe it’s just the pain that’s now absent from his face, replaced by that in his foot. Maybe he’s so drunk that his nerves have finally calmed about Kylo. Whatever it is, he allows his head to rest on the back of the couch, at ease with Kylo’s sure and steady touch. The routine is disturbingly familiar to him now. There’s the burn of the antiseptic, the coolness of the bacta.

 

The next moment–though many more have likely passed–Hux startles awake with a nudge to his shoulder.

 

Hux blinks heavily a few times, swallows thickly. His mouth his dry, and his neck hurts.

 

"I’m all done," Kylo tells him quietly.

 

Hux sits up slowly and lifts his leg. A white, cloth bandage is wrapped around his foot. He tries flexing it, but it’s a little stiff.

 

"There’s a bacta patch underneath, but I had to wrap it up pretty good. You just wouldn’t stop bleeding."

 

Hux hums an acknowledgement. He knows his voice isn’t ready to be used yet.

 

"Might have something to do with the alcohol in your system," Kylo chides, "but it should stop overnight if you keep it elevated."

 

Hux looks up at Kylo. His eyes were already on him, and Hux knows they’ve been trained on him for the last few minutes, even before he was awake. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux catches slight movement. Kylo’s hand is slow and steady as it reaches up to Hux’s face, hesitant that he’ll be stopped again. Hux allows it this time, though. Welcomes it.

 

Kylo pushes Hux’s hair out of his face, towards the crown of his head, follows around the side of his head until he’s cupping his hand over Hux’s ear. His thumb ghosts over Hux’s cheekbone, just under his bruise.

 

"You look good," Kylo says. "Better, I mean. Your eye. It looks better."

 

Hux’s face feels hotter now, even despite the flush the whiskey has already caused. Hux breaks eye contact first, and Kylo takes the cue, removing his hand and speaking up so Hux won’t have to find his way out of the awkwardness by himself. "Come on, Hux. Let’s get you to bed."

 

The use of his name clears his mind, shocks him into some semblance of awareness. Hux takes Kylo’s proffered hand, stands up gingerly, and throws his arm over Kylo’s shoulders without invitation. Kylo must have expected as much because he wraps his arm around Hux’s back and grabs onto his waist. They limp, somewhat pathetically, to Hux’s bedroom, his injury and drunkenness certainly not helping matters.

 

Hux doesn’t wait for Kylo to leave before pulling back the covers on his bed and climbing in. Kylo reaches across the bed stealthily and grabs one of Hux’s pillows, stuffing it under the blankets before Hux can pull them back up. "Elevate your foot."

 

"Fine. Don’t be so pushy," Hux retorts, but there’s no malice in his voice. He even shoots Kylo a smirk, but he’s distracted with getting Hux situated and doesn’t notice. 

 

"Thank you, Kylo." Hux’s voice is soft and meek, and for the first time all night, he doesn’t cringe at his own words because he’s said exactly what he wanted to. His eyes blink slowly as he sinks into his pillows.

 

Kylo laughs as he turns to walk out the room, and, for the strangest reason, the noise doesn’t send resentment striking through Hux’s body. 

 

"You’re definitely drunk. Get some sleep."

 

He’s gone before Hux can tell him he actually means it.

 

Days pass. Then weeks. Hux and Kylo aren’t on any better terms, but it’s certainly been worse. They still don’t speak of what happened. Kylo thinks Hux doesn’t have any memory of that night, that it’s been wiped clean by the alcohol, the memories having never been there in the first place. Hux hasn’t been able to stop thinking about any of it and nearly has the entire night looping like a holovid in his brain. 

 

Then one day, when Hux thinks things are finally starting to find an equilibrium, a normalcy of some sort, he sustains another injury, this one not so fixable. The injury isn’t to Hux himself, not exactly. His ego, perhaps. Kylo can’t fix this one. As a matter of fact, Kylo’s the one who needs help this time. 

 

What Snoke doesn’t know–or maybe he does–is that Hux isn’t in the crumbling chamber just to update him about Starkiller. He had every intention of asking, or demanding, that Snoke allow him to rescue Kylo from whatever hell he had gotten himself into. Hux would have gone either way, even if the Supreme Leader hadn’t commanded it of him. Hux isn’t quite sure what awaits him, but, regardless, it’s time to return the favor.

 

Kylo won’t trust anyone else to help him. Hux knows this.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](https://huxandthehound.tumblr.com/)


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